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When he died in 1989, the sum of Dad's years came closer to fourscore than to threescore and ten. With the psalmist, I attribute this number to his strength, but I would not wish the manner of his death on anyone. He died of complications due to Alzheimer's disease.
It was my first experience with the death of an immediate family member, so I was no veteran. I found myself up against a more complicated reality than I had anticipated. I remember thinking at the time that some portion of this is just plain death: nasty, sad, the way death always is. But it is not natural death. It is something else. In the words of Martin Luther's signature hymn, the disease threw every member of Dad's little nuclear family—his wife, daughter-in-law, and myself—into a "flood of mortal ills prevailing."
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